


My Favourite Things

by suspiciousteapot



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Childhood Memories, F/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspiciousteapot/pseuds/suspiciousteapot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt on asoiafkinkmeme: "During a visit to Riverrun, Cat shows him around the castle and grounds and they end up having sex in most of her favourite places (sometimes very public)."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The River

**Author's Note:**

> All of the things belong to George R.R. Martin.  
> Kudos, constructive criticism and positive feedback are very much appreciated.

He wakes to the heat of the sun streaming through a large window, making him uncomfortably hot. He is momentarily confused. Though it’s summer, Winterfell never gets quite this warm. The soft sound of rushing water draws his sleep-soaked mind to the fact that they had reached Riverrun last evening. Reluctantly pulling himself away from the warm scent of Cat’s soft hair, he sits up as stretches. He pulls on some clothes and heads down to the Great Hall to break his fast.

On his way he checks the children. Robb is sprawled out on top of the light blankets, his unruly hair strongly resembling a bird's nest. Though he has Catelyn’s look, Robb has his dislike of the heat. Arya and Sansa too seem to have his hot blood. Arya is squirming in her crib, frowning and kicking the blankets and Sansa has neatly (as neatly as a child in her third year can) folded hers by the end of her bed. Ned quietly walks in and removes Arya's blankets, momentarily stroking her small, red cheek before turning to give Sansa a kiss on the forehead and then just as quietly exiting the room.

Catelyn finds him there a short time later. They are the only ones in the Hall, save the servants, having risen rather early.

“Good morning my love,” she says, smiling. He rises and kisses her softly and for a little longer than he would if her family had been present. “Good morning.”

As she sits down he says, almost shyly “I was wondering if perhaps you might show me around Riverrun. We did not have much time to walk together when last I was here and I would love to visit the areas where you spent happy hours in your childhood.”

Her smile broadens “I would enjoy that very much, my lord.”

After finishing their meal, he goes to inform Lord Hoster that he and Catelyn shall be going for a walk and informs the servants that a lunch should be prepared. Cat sees to it that Robb and Sansa are left to the care of the septa and Arya to a wet nurse.

They set out on their leisurely journey. The beauty of his wife in the sun transfixes him. Her eyes seem to be made of the deep blue water of the river and the sun lights her hair on fire.

“Lysa, Petyr and I used to used to race each other to the river. Edmure would try to join us, the poor sweetling, but his little legs could never keep up. Rain or sun we would run like wildlings and throw ourselves into the river.” She smiles fondly at the memory.

Ned, however, frowns as the mention of Baelish’s name in such a happy moment pulls him away from his contemplation of Cat's joy and beauty. He decides not to push the issue. The man was, after all, once like a brother to her, as misguided and arrogant as his affections were. The day is gorgeous and he does not wish to dwell on past sorrows.

So he says instead, “My lady wife masquerading as a wildling? I cannot imagine it.”

She laughs and then leans towards him and lowers her voice to a purr “Can you not?”

He can feel a grin chase itself across his face as he remembers her chanting his name, just the night before. It was the first night they had been alone in a time, preoccupied as they were on the road.

“My lady, I do believe I shall require convincing,” he says with mock seriousness, doing his best to school his countenance to appear disbelieving.

Cat raises her eyebrows at the challenge, checks that the river is fairly close, then looks quickly around. The only people in sight are at the castle, now far enough away to only appear as dolls. Then, faster than he thought possible, she undoes the ties of her dress, slips out of it and runs, clad only in her shift, to the water.  
He gives a bark of laughter before pursuing her, catching up to her just in time for her to jump headlong into the deep water, dousing him.  
He quickly strips to his smallclothes and wades in after his wife. Swimming a few strokes, he watches as she floats on her back, eyes closed, breasts poking out of the water, the sodden shift doing nothing to hide their gentle slopes and pronounced peaks.

She twists, swims over and presses herself against him, draping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He pulls her closer and draws his mouth to where her pulse is beating wildly under her skin. He can feel his manhood hardening in his breeches and evidently so can she, for she nips lightly at his ear and whispers “I tire of swimming my lord, and it the river is not the only thing making me wet.”

With that he grabs her hand and they half swim, half run to the river’s edge. She throws her head back and laughs as he picks her up and carries her at short ways from the river before setting her down gently and removing her soaking shift, decidedly less gently. He slips his hand down to where she is hot and ready and she moans and arcs towards him.

“I need you now.” She gasps. His body does not let him argue. He divests himself of his smallclothes and swiftly sinks into her. He moves slowly at first, then faster, losing himself as she kisses him and orders him to take her harder.

With a sharp cry she finds her release, her pleasure rippling around him and sending him over the edge after her.

He rest his forehead against hers as they find themselves again, their breathing uneven and their hearts hammering wildly.  
Cat kisses his cheek “Shall we continue with the tour, my love?” He kisses her softly in affirmation and then pushes himself up and helps her to her feet.

They retrieve their clothes and the packed lunch. Ned offers Cat his arm and she accepts it, resting her elegant hand on his forearm.

“That certainly had a different ending than my childhood excursions! That being said, Lysa and I did often wonder about precisely that…”

He chuckles at the thought. “Were you close to the truth?”

“Ah, we though it was just hugging in a state of undress. And kissing. With tongues!” She rolls her eyes.

“Well I suppose it is _something_ like that…” he teases. She hits his shoulder lightly.

“Ned!”

“My lady?”

She shakes her head, smiling, “why don’t we stop for lunch here? After swimming, Lysa, Petyr and I would often eat or rest in the shade of these trees. There is only so much sun we can allow ourselves before we being to turn into lobsters.”

“Well might I say, my lady, that you would be beautiful even as a lobster.”

She laughs, high and bright as the sun above and they sit down to lunch.


	2. The Gardens and the Lesson Room

As they eat they talk of the children (Robb will soon be old enough to start lessons with a wooden sword and a pony), and Cat tells him some of her favourite memories of her times spent in and by the river with her siblings and Petyr.

After the food is consumed, the dishes and serviettes (and wet small-clothes) are packed back into the basket and they continue their walk.

"Where to next, my lady?" Ned asks.

“We had beautiful gardens. Mother used to bring me to the gardens when I was little and tell me about all of the kinds of flowers.” Cat looks sad as she talks, and he squeezes her hand in support.

“I should like to see them,” he says softly. They walk in comfortable silence back to the castle.

Unlike Winterfell, the gardens at Riverrun are outside, the climate aiding rather than harming them. Low stone walls circle the gardens that stretch along the east side of the castle.

“My favourites were the irises and the flybird’s perch,” she explains, gesturing to the purple and red flowers respectively.

They wander past beds overflowing with all manner of bright flowers and vines that follow them along the walls.

His eye catches on some bright orange flowers that are close in colour to Cat’s hair.

  
“I like these best I think,” he says, indicating the flowers.

“Tiger lilies,” she observes. She walks over and beaks one off mid-stem.  
He frowns, confused. She returns, places and hand on his chest and, with the other, threads the lily’s stem behind the direwolf pin on his tunic so that the head of the flower rests on top of the snarling beast.

He kisses her in thanks and runs his hands over her hair. Unfortunately it is braided and bound, so her cannot sink his fingers into it as he wishes to.

“Now we match,” he says, and she hums in agreement, running her fingers over his beard.

“Most of my other favourite places are indoors,” she says, “and we should remain inside as supper is only a while off.”

“Lead on, my lady” he replies.

Taking him by the hand she leads him back into the castle, upstairs to the third floor of the West Tower. They pass several servants who nod and smile in greeting.

Cat opens a large, ornately carved wooden door to a sun-filled room with a magnificent window overlooking the river to the Tumblestone.

“Lysa and I had many of our lessons here, and often sewed by the window.” Her eyes are distant, but a small smile tugs her lips up. She walks to the window and he closes the door before following, his arms circling her. She leans back into him. She moves her hips as though adjusting her position, however he can see out of the corner of his eye that her smile has turned devious.

“My lady is less innocent now than she must have been when last she was in this room,” he murmurs into her ear.

In response she raises an eyebrow and kneels down, unlacing his breeches.

"Perhaps," she acknowledges. 

He moans loudly as she slips her mouth over his rigid manhood. She wraps her tongue around him and sucks, pulling her mouth back along him.

“Shh…” she says, her lips brushing the head of his cock, “there are other people nearby.”

“The Others take them.” He says, his voice harsh with want.

Cat smiles and kisses the head of his manhood before once again taking him in her mouth.

He watches her head bob back and forth and groans her name over and over, hands seeking purchase in her braided hair.

“Cat, come up here. I cannot bear this any longer,” he begs, eyes closed and brow furrowed in an attempt to hold back.

She stands and he flips her urgently, grateful for the lack of smallclothes.  
He pushes into her without restraint, holding her breast in one hand and stroking her clit with the other. Cat cries out and her hands grasp the nearby windowsill.

Suddenly there is a knock at the door.

“Lady Stark?” The voice of the septon reaches them through the door.

They freeze.


	3. The Sept

“Yes?” answers Cat shakily.

“Are you hurt?” asks the septon, concerned.

“No, I was simply overjoyed to see the river in the afternoon light. The sight of it from this room has long been dear to me,” she lies easily.

Ned rests his face against her back, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Of course” says the septon, sounding satisfied.

They hear his footsteps leave. Ned lets out his laugh.

“Who would have known Lady Stark had such a talent for lying.” He murmured, kissing her back between her shoulders.

“Well one of us has to be able to think quickly.” She replies teasingly.

"Indeed. I don't know what I'd do without you." He says sincerely.

"Face the wrath of a sexton, most likely. A sexton who, as it happens, is probably now far enough to not trouble us again." She notes.

He smiles and thrust into her lightly and she gasps.

"Shh." He admonishes, reprising her earlier comment, "there are other people nearby."

Before she can say anything, he thrusts into her again, harder, and her words turn into a moan.

He kisses her neck and continues to move in her, finding the rhythm he had before they had been so rudely interrupted.  
She peaks with his name on her lips and, after a few more thrusts he shouts her name as he comes undone.

They break apart and Ned pulls up his breeches before turning turn pull her into a light embrace, his lips resting on her forehead.

She wraps her arms around him and they stand like that for a while, enjoying the simple intimacy of having the one you love in your embrace.

After a while they break apart and Cat frowns.

“What is it, my love?” he asks softly

“I have just realized that I have not seen to the children all day,” she replies, distracted. "Arya does not take well to wet nurses."

“I am sure your septa has Robb and Sansa well in hand.” He says, though he doesn't comment about Arya. She is barely a year old and yet she is more trouble than the other three ( _no, two_ ) put together. Yet he is enjoying the tour too much to let it stop now, and the castle staff can surely deal with three young children, after all most are apparently still the same as those who tended Catelyn and her siblings.

“Mmm.” She shakes her head as if to shake off the thoughts.

“I have two more places to show you,” she says, returning to the matter at hand.

“Oh?” he asks.

“First, a place you have already been, though under considerably more stressful circumstances.”

They exit the bright room. Thankfully there is no sign of anyone else who may have overheard them.

They walk past the Great Hall, continuing to the northern end of the castle and enter the sept.

The afternoon sun illuminates the coloured glass forms of the Seven. Though it is not his faith, Ned can see why his wife loves this place. He did not notice its tranquil beauty when he was here last, the day of their wedding. He had been too worried about the war and nervous about the ceremony and the ensuing bedding ( _how things have changed!_ ) to take in his surroundings. Now, however, he stops and gazes at it.

“It’s beautiful, Cat,” he whispers. Then guilt washes over him.  
“I wish I could have built one that was this beautiful for you at Winterfell.”

She takes his rough hands in her soft ones.  
“I love the sept you built me. It is different from this one, yes. Their physical beauty is not so important. It has The Seven and it is the one you had built for me. It was a gesture of respect and a place of tranquility for me at a time when everything seemed so strange and forbidding. It is mine for my new family, though of course they will learn of the Old Gods as well. The one you had made is for family we made.  This one is for the family I was born too. They are both very special to me, love.”

He places his hands on her arms and searches her face, but he sees no Duty there, only happiness.

“I meant it as a gesture of love too Cat.” He replies, gruff but soft.

She smiles in agreement.

“And a gesture of love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter, but they've been walking around (and not walking around) for some time so I think it's close to dinner-time.


	4. I Enjoyed it Well

Finally, Cat shows him into a grand room with a massive oak table stretching down the center. High-backed chairs are positioned around it.

“I loved this room. This was where decisions were made. Everyone in here had a purpose. In this room, I was more than a helpless little girl. I was Lady Tully.” She says this with pride. He knows how she hates to not be able to do anything, how helpless she must have felt when her mother died. In doing her duty she found her purpose and she relied on that when times were hard, just as she had in those first months at Winterfell when he had welcomed her with a bastard (not his, though he mustn’t say it) and many times since.

“Where was your place?” he asks.

Cat walks over to stand behind a chair at the far side of the room, the one to the right of the ornate chair at the head of the table.

He follows her over and lifts her onto the table beside her chair, giving her that smile that resembles a wolf, the one he knows she so loves.

 

“It seems to me one should be rewarded for such loyal duty to one’s family,” he growls as he moves to kneel before her.

 

He kisses both of her knees, and then moves slowly towards her centre, pushing up her skirts and placing kisses on the insides of each thigh as he goes. When he gets close, he lightly draws his tongue from her inner thigh to her folds, where she is ready for him.

She gasps and curls her hand into his hair when he pushes his tongue inside of her.

Her cries start out as his name, but soon devolve into strangled moans of pleasure as he sucks and licks her to her finish.

He raises his head to look on her face, she is flushed and still has her eyes closed.

“It is a good thing we are not in Winterfell. Had we done this on the throne of the Winter Kings I do not believe I would ever be able to sit in that room without becoming quite red.” She says playfully, if very much out of breath.

“A situation I shall soon have to remedy, my lady.” He replies gravely.

A bell joins to the sound of her laugh and he realizes it must already be time for supper.

They both look towards the door.

“I am sorry to leave my lord in such a state,” Cat says, with a pointed look at the straining laces of his breeches, “but it would not do to be late for supper, and we have yet to make ourselves presentable.”

She slides gracefully off the table and he stands, catching her arm.

“I have married a cruel woman,” he mocks, before kissing her harshly.  
She responds in kind, nipping his lower lip, but pulls away.

“My lord was not satisfied with his tour of the castle and grounds?” Her face is deceptively innocent.

It is his turn to laugh.

“Cat, if you should wished to continue your tour of the southern lands, I do believe I would follow you all the way to Dorne.”

She kisses his cheek lightly.

“Come husband, let us get ready for the feast.”

…

Some time later, at the feast, Cat blushes bright red and he nearly chokes on his ale when her father politely asks Ned if he enjoyed his tour of the castle.

This is one of the few times he is glad that most people think his face is carved of ice, for Lord Hoster’s face is merely satisfied when he answers

“I enjoyed it very well, Lord Tully. Very well indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for happy married sexytimes! Thanks for reading, hope it was good enough to make you blush and look around the room to make sure no one saw you reading about the sexytimes.


End file.
